


Demons

by SlightlyTwistedSilverware, WelshWitch1011



Series: Rarities, B-Sides, & Other Stuff [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Grant Ward Redemption, Skyeward - Freeform, Skye|Quake/Ward|Hellfire, Songfic, Ward is Hellfire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 10:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4056775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlightlyTwistedSilverware/pseuds/SlightlyTwistedSilverware, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WelshWitch1011/pseuds/WelshWitch1011
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the past is too painful to remember, all you can do is look to the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demons

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third fic in our 'Rarities, B-Sides & Other Stuff' series. 
> 
> As before, we own nothing!! 
> 
> We hope you like it!! This is pretty much fluff overload, but be warned, things will get a lot more interesting from here on out. ;)

‘I wanna hide the truth  
I wanna shelter you  
But with the beast inside  
There’s nowhere we can hide...’

x-x-x

Greenport, New York State

Pain licked at the corners of his mind, pulling him from slumber into unwelcome consciousness. Grant Ward stifled a groan as his eyelids fluttered open and he became aware of the fact that it was moonlight as opposed to sunlight that streamed into the bedroom from beneath the bottom of the blinds. Casting a glance at the wall clock and squinting at the gently ticking hands, Ward let out a sigh as he realised that it was barely past midnight. It seemed that his pain medication had already worn off, leaving him vulnerable to the persistent burn stemming from the wound on his shoulder. Skye had changed the bandages for him once again that morning, commenting on the angry appearance of the surrounding skin, before washing the area with iodine as a precaution. Ever since, the pain had seemed renewed in intensity, although Ward had clenched his jaw against it and refused to admit the weakness to Skye. Overcome by the domestic vibe of their surroundings, he had even attempted to mow the lawn in the back yard that afternoon, getting as far as dragging the mower out of the garage before Skye had darted out from the kitchen to chide him. In retrospect, it was a move he regretted, now that the agony had grown so intense that he was forced to fist the sheets and bite his lip, beads of perspiration forming on his forehead. 

Feeling the mattress dip beneath her, Skye opened her eyes and unsteadily propped herself up on her elbows. 

“Grant?” she mumbled sleepily. She yawned as she finally managed to sit up straight and shake the final vestiges of sleep from her mind. 

“Are you okay?” she pressed, placing her hand on the centre of his back as he sat up beside her, hunched over the covers as if either deep in thought or in considerable pain. She wasn’t sure which option she liked the least. 

“It’s okay,” Grant assured her, turning to catch her gaze in the darkness, “go back to sleep. I’ll be fine.”

Skye’s features knit into a frown and she moved to kneel up beside him, leaning her head on his good shoulder as she reached up to massage the back of his neck. 

“You’re a terrible patient, you know that?” she chided, punctuating her accusation with a tender kiss against the top of his arm. Nuzzling her face into his skin, she sighed wearily before stumbling out of bed and heading over to the dresser, where a tray was filled with a veritable buffet of painkillers, antibiotics and saline pods, and an array of dressings. 

Holding one of the plastic bottles up to the light, she pushed a large, pink pill onto her palm and padded back over to her boyfriend. 

“Take this,” she directed, her tone soothing but leaving little room for argument. She placed the painkiller into his palm and picked up the glass of water from the night stand. Without comment, Ward threw the pill into his mouth, swallowing it down with a grimace and a gulp of water. Skye sat at his side, kicking her legs absently out in front of her as she watched the shadows dance across her bare skin, and the moonlight glinted off the red nail polish on her toes. 

“You know, in this house, sitting here like this, I could almost pretend we’re a normal couple,” Skye stated, smiling as she turned to Ward, her eyes sweeping his features in concern, although she never once allowed her expression to betray as much. 

Ward’s lips twitched, a faint smirk breaking through the pained set of his jaw despite the fact that the latest pill would not begin to touch his symptoms for a while yet. 

“Tomorrow, we could go pick out lawn furniture, if you’d like,” Ward teased, chuckling as Skye shot him a sour look, her lips pursed and one eyebrow arched. 

“What if I would?” Skye shot back, crossing her arms and directing a challenging look at Grant. “Are you judging me for embracing this, admittedly brief, brush with domesticity?”

This time, Ward did consent to laugh, although he immediately came to regret the action as it sent renewed waves of pain ricocheting through his torso. He pressed his hand to his shoulder and winced, bowing his head as Skye reached forwards in order to stroke the apple of his cheek with the back of her hand. 

“No, it’s just... I think it’s cute,” Ward finally managed through gritted teeth, clearly doing his best to push away the pain that had yet begun to ebb away. 

Skye crawled back up onto the bed and hurriedly stacked her pillows against the brass bed frame in order to lean back against them in a half-reclined position. 

“Come lay down,” she directed, pleased when Grant did not attempt to rail against such obvious coddling. She pulled one of his pillows down against her chest to allow him to lay back somewhat comfortably against her. 

Ward closed his eyes almost the second his head sank into the pillow, and he smiled as Skye curved her body around him. She propped her head in her hand as she stroked her fingertips gently across his brow in an attempt to vanquish the grimace that had settled there. 

He could feel the warmth radiating from her body, and the faint scent of her perfume was somehow both awakening yet comforting. 

Skye watched her fingertips trace across his skin and, as her fingers combed through his hair, Grant’s eyes opened to regard her with an intensity that made her stomach dip. 

“Why won’t you let anyone take care of you?” she inquired, a little tired of the constant protestations her attempts to look after him had sparked. The very fact he was making no move to resist her since she had awoken meant he must be in considerable pain. 

Ward captured her hand and interlinked their fingers, turning to face her until his cheek lay against her chest; he couldn’t help the faintly awed smile that tugged at his lips. Skye rolled her eyes, glancing down at him to convey that she expected a response to her question. He mulled it over for just a moment before he pressed their palms together, marvelling at how small her hand seemed in comparison to his own. 

“Nobody’s ever wanted to,” he explained, and the sincerity and sadness in his voice made Skye’s chest ache. 

She hesitated for a moment, a question poised on her lips that she was uncertain that Grant would answer. The words tumbled from her anyway as she quickly realised that her own curiosity would not allow the matter to lie. 

“What about Kara?”

Grant remained silent and for a second Skye wondered if she had ventured into unwelcome territory. Just as her heart rate began to pick up in anticipation of his sadness, he inclined his head to meet her eyes and she saw only contemplation reflected back in his irises. 

“That was different.”

Without thinking, she blurted out, “Did you love her?” 

Skye’s eyes flashed closed, and she steadied herself for his reply, knowing full well that if he were to say ‘yes’, she would have nobody to blame but herself. 

Much to Skye’s surprise, Ward actually laughed, drawing their joined hands into his chest as he stared up at her with open incredulity. It didn’t cease to amaze him that she could still doubt the depth of his feelings for her, even after everything they had endured. 

Noting the confused and vaguely wounded expression that crashed across Skye’s face, Grant replied earnestly, “No, it wasn’t like that. I wanted to help her - pay her back for taking care of me. And... I guess I was lonely.”

“Mr. Compartmentalisation was lonely?” teased Skye, fighting hard to keep her smile in place, although the mention of Kara had sent her mood into an undeniable downward spiral. 

“For once, yeah, I was,” Ward replied, shaking his head as he considered the idea carefully. “I was closed off until I met the team, and you. I meant it when I said you changed me. You made me realise that I didn’t want to be that guy doing everything on his own any more. But I guess I didn’t want to be that guy blindly following orders either. Being with Kara was a happy medium; companionship without ownership for the first time.”

Skye listened quietly, something in her eyes almost nostalgic as she digested Ward’s confession.

“I think I know what you mean,” she murmured, although her sudden understanding of Grant’s previous relationship with the errant Agent 33 by no means equalled her acceptance of it, and she unconsciously tightened her grip on his arm. 

“I suppose we still have a lot to learn about each other,” Grant stated, leaning to the side in order to brush his lips against Skye’s temple. She closed her eyes momentarily as his mouth touched her skin, a sigh escaping her. 

“I’m an open book,” she protested, shaking her head and frowning. “You know everything there is to know already; orphanage, van, Rising Tide, S.H.I.E.L.D., crazy parent, Terrigen mist, second crazier parent, then us.”

Ward let out a bark of laughter, wincing immediately afterwards as the action caused his shoulder to throb with force. 

“Stories, Skye,” Ward answered, his voice growing softer, more contemplative, “everyone’s got stories.”

“You want me to tell you a story?” Skye demanded, arching a brow and staring askance at Ward, who blinked back at her through wide eyes for the longest time. 

Blowing out a breath, Skye deliberated over the request for a few minutes, her fingertips never halting their path up and down his arm. 

"Wait, do you mean good stories like the time my foster family paid for me to go to computer science camp... or bad stories like when I couldn't go to prom because I had no money to buy a dress or anything, and I spent the night with this total stoner guy from class and lost my virginity behind the dumpster at a Taco Bell?" 

Ward did a double take and peered up at her with his eyebrows raised almost to his hairline. He floundered momentarily for a response and a frown overcame his features; until amusement set in and the absurdity of her story left Ward laughing, whilst Skye looked on wearing a bemused and slightly indignant expression. 

"Nice," she replied, rolling her eyes and biting her cheek to prevent the smile that was threatening to betray her own amusement. 

"Taco Bell?" he repeated, unsuccessfully attempting to pull her down on to the mattress and into his arms. "Come here.” 

Skye glanced down at him and shook her head. 

"I don't want to hurt you," she said firmly, watching as Grant scooted further down the pillow and then opened his uninjured arm out to beckon her. 

"You won't. I just want to hold you. Come here," he coaxed, admirably managing to swallow down the grin he knew was still threatening to ruin his composure.

"Fine," Skye huffed, smirking despite her mock indignation as she scooted down to lay in his arms and their positions were suddenly reversed. She lay her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes as he held her tight, his hand curling around her hip. 

"Even if you did laugh at my sad story," she added dejectedly. 

Ward inclined himself toward her, allowing his cheek to rest lightly against her forehead. He knew that the mention of Agent 33 had left Skye feeling unsettled - but she would never know how his heart had still belonged to her even though Kara herself had realised as much far quicker than he could ever have anticipated. 

"What was his name? I could track him down and cross him off for you," he offered, chuckling again as Skye's eyes flickered open and she regarded him with an expression that conveyed she wasn't entirely certain he was kidding. She returned her head to his shoulder and nuzzled her lips against his neck as contentment washed over her, and her body relaxed into his arms. 

"Skye?" he began, his voice little more than a whisper. 

"Hmmm?" she murmured sleepily, smoothing her palm across his bare chest. 

"What the hell is computer science camp?" 

Her laughter vibrated across his skin, and she pressed her face into his neck as her body trembled against his. 

"Shut up!" she giggled, glancing up at him and feeling her smile only widen. He craned his neck and she automatically leant up toward him, her hand landing on his cheek as their lips met in a series of gentle kisses. She lay her head back down again and let her palm come to rest above his heart, her fingertips still stroking his skin. 

"Okay... a story... uhm... I don't know, I guess most of them are pretty depressing. You sure you want me to tell you that stuff?" 

"Tell me whatever you want me to know," he answered simply, closing his eyes and tightening his fingers around the curve of her hip.

Her mind already wandering down pathways long ago abandoned, Skye closed her eyes as she began to speak.

x-x-x

New York City, 1994

Pausing to examine the fruits of her morning’s work, Mary cocked her head and held aloft the card, barely noticing the shower of glitter that cascaded from it with the action. Deciding that the portrait of her foster mother could perhaps use another flower sticker and an eighth piece of macaroni hair, Mary reached for the glue and set about perfecting her picture. Usually, she wasn’t one for arts and crafts, mostly since a couple of the nuns had laughed at her attempts to draw the nativity scene a few Christmases ago, when they had thought she wasn’t looking. 

She had accidentally made the baby Jesus twice the size of the virgin Mary and her angel had ending up resembling a Boeing 747, but she had poured her heart and soul into the picture, only to tear it up in anger hours later. She had spent a little while crying over the slight, and lamenting the fact that she had nobody to treasure her childish scrawls the way her classmates did; Lauren Weiss’ paintings always looked like a plate of spaghetti and meatballs, no matter what they were intended to be, but her mother seemed grateful for each and every one of them on the playground at pick up time. 

Mary knew, because she had watched often, always noticing the way the woman would flash her daughter a big, toothy grin before holding the drawing up to the light and making loud exclamations about how brilliant it was. Sometimes, purely out of spite, Mary would peer over Lauren’s shoulder as she worked just so she could berate her efforts beforehand. She wasn’t entirely sure why, but it made her feel a little better about the fact that the nuns recycled the majority of her pictures after glancing at them. 

Eventually, she had just stopped drawing altogether, preferring instead to play outside in the sunshine, where she could be found hanging upside down from the jungle gym, wild brown hair hanging loose and obscuring her face. Although she rarely found someone willing to play with her, given her propensity for lying, coupled with the state of her ratty St. Agnes hand-me-downs, she felt a sense of contentment outdoors that she had found nowhere else. At least, until the Brodeys. 

It was the first Mother’s Day card that Mary had ever made but, in her childish mind, it was well deserved. The very first night she had spent with Amy and Samuel Brodey and their two children, Mary had been led to her new bedroom, which had been renovated especially for her from a home office into a pony-themed little girl’s dream. She had slept between bed covers that had been pulled fresh from the packaging before her eyes and, in the morning, she had awoken to a breakfast of bacon and pancakes. Then, Mrs. Brodey had braided her hair, long, pale fingers working quickly and gently at the unruly mess until it was tamed. When she had finished and professed that Mary looked as beautiful as any princess, the little girl had turned and flung her arms around the woman’s legs with actual tears shining in her eyes. Since then, Mary’s days had passed by in a heady blur of ballet classes, family movie nights, home cooked meatloaf and bathtimes that ended with someone kissing every one of her tiny toes. 

Holding up her card for one final inspection, and, content that the addition of one final flower had made all the difference, Mary headed towards the kitchen, where she knew Mrs. Brodey would be.

She skipped into the neighbouring room, a beaming smile on her face as her braids whipped against her back and she held her gift carefully between glue coated fingers. 

“Mrs. Brodey?” she began shyly, her heart soaring as the blue-eyed, blonde haired woman turned and rewarded her with a smile. 

“What is it Mary?” she replied, her plump, rounded face broadening even further as she beamed down at her young charge. 

Wiping her hands on a dish towel, the woman gave the child her full attention, her eyes darting discretely to the pink card clutched to her chest. 

“I made you a card!” Mary announced excitedly, holding aloft the item towards her foster carer as she added with heartbreaking reverence, “Happy Mother’s Day, Mrs. Brodey!”

The child was too caught up by the significance of her gesture to notice the frown that momentarily tainted the woman’s features, and she didn’t note her hesitance in accepting the gift. 

“Oh, well... That’s just lovely, Mary,” she managed an appreciative smile and turned the page of the card to look inside, noting with both pleasure and discomfort the scrawled, messy cursive and scatter of x’s and o’s. “Thank you, honey.”

“You like it?” Mary checked, bouncing on her heels as she basked in the glory of giving her very first Mother’s Day card.

“I do, very much,” Mrs. Brodey replied, suddenly clearing her throat and glancing around the kitchen as she scanned the front of the refrigerator and the nearby shelves. 

“Are you going to put it on the refrigerator next to Anna’s?” Mary asked hopefully, already having considered the options and decided for herself that the spot to the right of her foster sister’s card would be the best option to suitably display her work. 

Mrs. Brodey paused, running her free hand through her hair as she peered down at Mary, who had begun to notice the strange expression crossing the woman’s face. As Mary let loose a frown, Mrs. Brodey forced a bright smile.

“I know, why don’t we put it in my special memory box?” Mrs. Brodey suggested, her eyes twinkling in the afternoon light as she peered down at the child, “I think that would be just perfect.”

Mary’s grimace grew in ferocity, she folded her arms across her chest as she regarded her foster mother.

“But nobody will see it there,” she protested, brow furrowed and bottom lip beginning to jut out, threatening a pout and possible temper tantrum. Mrs. Brodey sucked in a deep, steadying breath; she had been warned by the nuns that Mary could be prone to difficult behaviour, but so far their days had been mostly smooth sailing. She hated to spoil the otherwise calm atmosphere and risk undoing the progress Mary had made, but she had begun to notice the subtle indications that Anna was starting to resent the other child’s presence. Although several years older than Mary, Anna still had a tendency to jealousy, and the hurt that Mrs. Brodey saw flickering across her daughter’s face every time she gathered her newest foster child into a hug or touched her cheek was almost more than she could bare. 

“Well... The thing is Mary,” the woman began, pressing her hand to her forehead as she tried her best to soften the impending blow with a weak smile, “Anna might get a little upset if she sees I’ve put your card next to hers. You... You understand, right?” 

She frowned, noting with a heavy heart how the little girl’s eyes had lost their lustre, and Mary hung her head until her chin almost rested on her chest. 

“Oh Mary, don’t be like that,” Mrs. Brodey pleaded, patting her shoulder in a timid manner as she saw the child was on the verge of tears. 

“Look, why don’t you go and watch TV and when Anna and I get back from the movie maybe you can help me bake some cookies?” 

Mary’s head snapped up and she levelled a questioning gaze at her foster mother, “Can I come to the movies? I promise I’ll be good.”

Mrs. Brodey smiled and reached out to tilt the child’s chin upwards, her thumb drifting over the apple of her cheek to caress baby soft skin. 

“Sweetie, I promised Anna that she and I could have some mommy/daughter time. You and I can do something fun another day.”

Mary looked utterly crestfallen; just as always, she was starting to realise her place in this household. She wasn’t one of them, and she never would be one of them. 

“But it’s Mother’s Day,” she lisped, no longer caring that hot, fat tears had begun to splash down her cheeks and onto the front of her shirt. 

The woman glanced up at the clock as her mind suddenly seemed to wander to other more pressing matters, and she Mary one final bitter-sweet smile before she stated firmly, “Mary-Sue... I’m not your mother. You and I will just be friends, okay?”

Bobbing her head sadly in unwilling agreement, Mary folded her arms across her chest and tried hard to choke back further tears. Seconds later, Anna whirled into the room, chattering excitedly about the afternoon ahead, and Mary found herself overcome with the urge to escape from the scene of familial bliss.

Neither Mrs. Brodey or her daughter noticed as Mary slipped from the kitchen and shut herself in her room to cry unashamedly, the feeling of being so utterly unwanted proving too much to endure once again.

Two months later, she left the Brodey residence and returned to the orphanage.

x-x-x

Brushing self-consciously at her cheek with the pad of her thumb, Skye turned her head away from Ward’s all too intense gaze, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. 

“Sorry,” she sniffled, “it’s so stupid. It was a long time ago. I can’t believe I still remember that.”

Ward shook his head, understanding written plainly across his features as he reached out and cupped Skye’s chin with his hand. For a while, he stared down at her, his eyes sweeping her face and finding only sadness reflected there.

“It’s not stupid,” he finally managed, his tone soft but firm. “You were a kid. You just wanted to be accepted, to be loved. Every child deserves that.”

Skye remained quiet, lowering her head back to Ward’s chest and pressing her cheek against his warm skin. She screwed her eyes closed and breathed in the scent of the previous day’s aftershave that still clung to him, using the faint aroma to ground herself in the present moment and banish all thoughts of a skinny six year old girl who just wasn’t lovable enough. 

“You know, sometimes I forget that I actually found her,” Skye murmured, using the sleeve of her pyjama shirt to wipe at her nose, “and then it suddenly hits me; what she was, what she did... what she tried to do... We won’t ever have mother/daughter time at the movies or make ice cream cake for my birthday, and I won’t send another Mother’s Day card again... I guess some things just aren’t meant to be.”

Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, Ward wrapped both arms around her, gritting his teeth momentarily as the action prompted a deep, unforgiving stab of pain. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." he whispered, stroking her hair as he felt her cling to him and he immediately regretted ever having asked her to share the painful secrets of her past. Some things were meant to stay forgotten and Grant couldn’t help but feel that he should have known that better than anybody. 

"No. No, it's okay," Skye interjected, her eyes flickering up to affix him in a defiant gaze that betrayed so many of her long-held fears, "no more secrets. Promise me, Grant?" 

Ward dipped his head until their foreheads were pressed together, and he slid his hand around the back of her neck to direct her lips to his. 

"I promise," he vowed, punctuating his affirmation with a kiss. "Go to sleep. We'll talk more in the morning, if you want to." 

He brushed a final, chaste kiss against her temple and continued to stroke his fingers through her hair, hoping to soothe her. Skye nestled closer, almost seeming to struggle to get close enough to quell the ache that memories of her childhood had awoken. 

"Don't let go," she pleaded, her voice little more than a whisper in the silence that had crashed down around them. 

Grant’s heavy reply made her heart flutter with the unchecked certainty promised by his voice. 

"Never."

x-x-x

By the time morning rolled around, the pain had subsided to a dull and manageable ache. Grant dry swallowed a couple of the milder pain killers before swinging his legs over the side of the bed and beginning to rise. Usually, his morning routine consisted of a couple of circuits to work on his core strength, but strenuous exercise was off the menu until his shoulder had completely healed. Instead, he padded out of the bedroom in only his boxers and veered towards the kitchen, where he was almost certain he would find Skye attempting to perfect her breakfast preparations. So far, he had endured a failed attempt at bran and raisin muffins, which had resulted in blackened balls hard enough to break a window, and enjoyed a cheese and mushroom omelette that was so light and fluffy it had clearly surprised Skye herself. She claimed that living in a van for a number of years had hardly allowed her time to work on her limited cooking skills, but so far they had discovered that, whilst savoury dishes presented little challenge, her skills did not encompass baked goods. 

Therefore, he was marginally nervous when his nose twitched at the faint aroma of blueberry pancakes that had begun to permeate the air, and he turned into the kitchen just in time to watch Skye beginning to ladle batter into a skillet. There was a large smudge of flour on the tip of her nose and dried egg white clinging to the front of her black t-shirt, and her hair was piled on the top of her head in a messy ponytail. The kitchen itself seemed to have taken the brunt of her efforts, with dirty bowls and utensils covering every surface, a puddle of spilled milk on the tiled floor that had yet to be cleaned up, and small mounds of sugar dotted everywhere. However, despite the chaos surrounding her, Skye wore a smile on her face that had not been present the night before, and so Ward could hardly find it within himself to do much else but linger in the doorway and look on at his girlfriend with affection. They could deal with the mess later - provided he survived the pancakes that Skye had piled onto a plate she held aloft in one hand. She tended the skillet with the spatula gripped in the other hand, beginning to gnaw on her bottom lip as she peered down at her own browning pancakes. 

As Ward took a step further into the kitchen, a loose floorboard creaked, and Skye’s head shot up with a grin already in place. 

“Hope you like pancakes,” she stated, tipping the laden plate towards him with an expression that resembled pride colouring her features. She frowned a little as she added, “I tried to make them Mickey Mouse shaped but that kind of didn’t work out so well, so they’re just... splats.”

"I'm sure they'll taste fine," he stated, dutifully accepting the plate and bending to press a kiss against her lips. She tasted of blueberries and coffee, and he grabbed her gently around the hip to pull her closer for a more lingering encounter. Skye broke away and swept her gaze approvingly over Ward with an absent nibble on her lower lip, which aptly expressed the sudden burst of desire pooling in her stomach. The action did not go undetected by her boyfriend, and he grinned smugly as he balanced the plate in one hand and pulled her flush against him with the other. 

Skye cast a glance out the kitchen window and then looped one arm around Ward’s neck as she teased, "Honey, what will the neighbours think?" 

Grant chuckled and ducked his head to steal another kiss, smiling against her lips as his hand slid down her back and settled on her rear. 

"Oh, they'll know exactly what to think," he growled, suddenly frowning in mock-contemplation as he added, "wait, ‘honey’? I thought we agreed on the whole 'no terms of endearment' thing?!" 

Arching an eyebrow, Skye nodded in vehement agreement. 

"You bet your ass we did, 'baby'," she mocked, refusing to pass up the opportunity to remind Grant about the one hideous occasion he had mistakenly broken out that particular term of endearment to a thoroughly unimpressed Skye. 

"One time. That was one time," Grant defended his obviously miscalculated action, rolling his eyes as Skye poked her tongue out at him and then tossed a handful of blueberries into her mouth. 

"Sit! I made coffee too," she directed, ushering him over to the table and chairs that so far seemed to have escaped her path of culinary destruction. She had laid out knives and forks, two bottles of syrup, and a small vase of daisies that prompted a smile from Ward as soon as he noticed them. 

"You going to join me?" he asked, watching as she rubbed the back of her bare leg with her foot and added another ladle of batter to the skillet. 

"Mmm-hmm," she nodded, ensuring that the pancake had begun to take shape before she padded over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind. Her hands smoothed across his shoulders, taking extra care not to disturb his injured side, and she brushed her lips affectionately against his jaw.

“If you’re not careful, I might get used to this,” Ward teased, beginning to slice through his pancakes with the side of his fork. He set down the utensil in order to pick up the maple syrup and squeeze a generous dollop onto the side of his plate. Usually, he abstained from quite so much sugar but given the fact he was recuperating, he had decided to ease up on his dietary militancy. Skye seemed to be appreciating the sentiment and was seizing the opportunity to slip bags of Cheetos and chocolate chip muffins into their weekly grocery shopping. Ward might have chided her for her over exuberance, had she not looked quite so happy and adorable as she pushed their cart from aisle to aisle. 

“I guess I could too,” Skye replied with a slight shrug of her shoulders. At a glance from Ward, she added, “eventually. I’m not exactly ready to hang up the old gauntlets just yet.”

Ward screwed up his features and shook his head as he demanded, “Coulson still trying to force those things on you?”

“It’s not Coulson,” Skye protested, immediately defensive as she hopped down from Ward’s knee to fold her arms across her chest, “he trusts us. Well, he trusts me. It’s the Science Division. They think they could help to focus my powers and...”

“We both know what they think, Skye,” Grant interrupted, shaking his head and averting his gaze to his plate, not wishing to sully their morning with a disagreement. Although Skye already knew his opinion regarding the gloves that Simmon and the rest of the Science Division had been tinkering with, he couldn’t help but raise his concerns again and again whenever the subject presented itself.

“Well, maybe they’re right,” Skye said quietly, dropping her own gaze to the floor as she kicked her toe across the tiles in a childish manner, arms hugging her own body.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” Ward stated, struggling to maintain an even tone, “but I don’t want to see you become their guinea pig either. We’re both doing much better now. We have more control than we’ve ever had before.” 

Skye busied herself with flipping the pancake over, displaying a needless degree of diligence as she poked at the sides of the skillet with the spatula. 

"I need to earn their trust back, Grant," she grumbled, leaning back against the cooker and surveying the scene in the kitchen with sudden realisation of the mess she'd made. "After everything that happened with my parents, I... I need them to know I'm on their side. Because if they don't trust me to control my powers properly, they won't trust me to train more recruits, and... I need for them to trust me with other things." 

"Like?" Ward inquired, placing his fork down onto the table and leaning back in his seat as he watched her, noting how nervous and apprehensive she had suddenly become. "Skye?" 

She flipped the pancake onto a clean plate and turned off the burner, walking across the kitchen and placing the plate onto the table with little care. The plate wobbled slightly, and Skye sank down into her seat, finally facing defeat and lifting her eyes to meet his expectant gaze. 

"You." 

Ward blinked as he took in the meaning of her words, which had been far from the response he had been anticipating. Guilt began to resurface and he shook his head sadly, deliberating over what to say. He had put her in a compromising situation by acting on his feelings, and although breaking up the team dynamic had been his biggest regret before, becoming the cause of Skye's detachment from her surrogate family now filled him with even more remorse.

"I don't want you to have to wear those things... or feel like you have to prove yourself on missions, or anything else that puts you at risk. Not because of me. I'm not worth it, Skye," he finished quietly, staring down at the edge of the table and swallowing hard as the truth left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

Skye narrowed her eyes and pushed her plate back. It hit the vase with a sharp clang, and Skye found herself glaring angrily at the flower heads, counting each petal and leaf in an attempt to keep her emotions in check. 

"Why do you do that?" she demanded, her fury increasing by the second. She suddenly looked across the table and stared at him so intently that he was powerless not to meet her gaze. 

"I've made my choice and it's you. This is what I want," she said, gesturing to the space between them and looking pointedly around the room at the semi-domestic scene. Standing up resolutely, she shook her head at him before she pulled the table back from in front of him and perched on his lap. Moving to sit astride his knee, she planted her palms on the side of his face and levelled her gaze with his. 

"Because I love you. Okay?" 

Ward could do nothing but stare back at her - apparently rendered speechless by her anger fuelled confession. His brow creased and his eyes searched her face, as if the prospect seemed unthinkable. It was everything he had ever wanted - she was all he had ever wanted. And it was his; she was his.

“I love you too,” he murmured, his hand resting against her cheek. “More than I ever thought it would be possible to love anyone.”

Skye’s smile erupted immediately and she leaned forwards to brush first the tip of her nose and then her lips against Grant’s forehead. 

“Good, because for a moment there, I thought it was going to get awkward,” she replied, grinning as she plucked a piece of pancake from Ward’s plate and then popped it into her mouth. She rolled her eyes to the ceiling as she chewed, her eyes dancing in delight as she declared through a mouthful of crumbs, “These are actually delicious.”

Ward shook his head at her antics and chuckled, tucking a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear as he stated, “Mickey Mouse be damned.”

x-x-x

When Skye’s cell phone rang a few hours later, the tense atmosphere returned. Ward could tell from the way she sat with her back erect and her fingers gripping the phone until they whitened that it was the Director on the other end of the line. He watched in complete silence as she took the call, noting how she was careful to maintain a neutral expression and yet managed to give away her discomfort completely by refusing to speak more than a couple of words at a time in response. When she disconnected the call, Ward placed the book he had been reading face down in his lap and folded his hands, regarding Skye with a probing gaze. 

“What did Coulson want?” he pressed after several moments of complete silence. Skye startled, her head whipping around to Ward’s direction as her cell clattered from her hand. 

Moving further up the couch to lean into his side, Skye waited until he had lifted his arm to enable her to lean against him. 

"A S.H.I.E.L.D. team raided an old factory building out in Chicago this morning. It was full of bodies, all Inhumans. They'd been experimented on. Men, women... children. Coulson said there were maybe thirty of them." 

"The Russians?" Ward demanded, discarding his book on the end table beside him as he drew Skye closer into his chest. 

"Looks like it," Skye muttered, obviously concerned and perhaps somewhat afraid of the new enemy they faced. 

"S.H.I.E.L.D. can handle this," Ward reassured her, "we can handle this. It'll be okay." 

Skye smiled weakly, trying not to let her thoughts dwell on the fate of the people in the factory or the terror they must have experienced at the hands of their murderers. A building sense of anxiety was starting to descend on Skye, and she tried desperately to shake it from her thoughts. 

"That's what Coulson said," she replied almost doubtfully, tracing her fingertips across the back of his hand as it rested on her hip. 

"He's a smart guy," Ward allowed, hoping she would realise that neither he nor Coulson's S.H.I.E.L.D. would ever allow anything bad to happen to her. Of course, the irony of the two men agreeing with each other was not lost on Skye. 

"He says 'hi' by the way, asked how your shoulder was doing..." 

Ward's head fell back against the upholstery of the sofa and he chuckled in amusement. 

"Sure he did," he muttered, "was that before or after the thinly veiled threats to have me killed or my memory wiped if I step out of line?!" 

"I'm serious," she insisted, reaching back blindly to place her hand against his cheek. She absently stroked the line of his jaw, relieved to find that he had finally acquiesced to her plea to shave and it was smooth skin that met her touch.

“Yeah, I almost believe you,” Ward retorted, laughing as Skye swatted at his chest, although the gesture was rather more lacklustre than usual. Ward watched her expression carefully, noting the fresh sorrow shining behind her eyes as she gazed back at him, although her features were perfectly schooled into a mask of complete calm and control. 

“I feel so useless, you know?” Skye lamented quietly, running the tip of her index finger up Ward’s chest. “I’m hiding out here whilst the Russians are crossing off toddlers... Some freaking superhero I’ve turned out to be.”

“Skye...” Ward scolded, shaking his head at her as she stared with feigned concentration at the swirling patterns on the lounge carpet. “It’s not your job to save the world. You’re just one person.”

“It’s my job to help my people, Grant,” she replied, finally meeting his gaze with wide, watery eyes, “our people. You’re wounded but... I should be out there, doing something, not sitting here in the suburbs with my tail between my legs whilst they’re being cut open and butchered.”

“This isn’t the suburbs,” Ward pointed out, one eyebrow arched as he peered back at Skye, who bristled in irritation. Nonetheless, Ward continued, his tone bearing the weight of his seriousness, “And maybe we can make a difference in this fight, but running off half cocked because we’re angry or hurt or upset will get us nothing but the same fate that befell those people we were trying so hard to avenge. Do you really think it will help anyone if you get yourself killed? Do you think that’s what Coulson would want or May or Fitz... Or me?” 

She shrugged reluctantly, feeling slightly ridiculous for the sense of comfort she found in his arms. She had spent so long after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. trying to mimic May - to banish emotion and feeling from her actions, and to become the opposite of the girl in the van. Ward's betrayal had made her want to harden her heart so as to stop herself ever feeling the pain she had felt as she'd sat gazing at his face on a laptop screen, knowing he had betrayed them. Which is why it seemed ludicrous that less than two years later, he had become her rock - the one person who could make her feel safe, and with whom she felt most herself. Grant’s fingertips ghosted up her side and Skye hid her face in his neck, soothed by the tender touches he was capable of. Skye all but purred into his skin as he lay back on the couch and rolled her on top of his body. 

"How are you doing?" she checked, closing her eyes as his fingers began to rake through her hair. 

"Better than I have been in a long time," he stated, taking a moment to merely enjoy the feel of her beneath his palm. Being near Skye was intoxicating, and he found all of his senses overwhelmed by her at once; the sound of her breath, the scent of her skin, the taste of her lips, all surrounded him completely. He wanted nothing more than to drown in her.

"Tell me something..." Skye encouraged softly, "anything."

“Well, I didn’t lose my virginity behind a dumpster at the back of Taco Bell, if that’s what you’re hoping for,” Ward quipped, managing to thwart a grin as he peered down at his girlfriend.

“Asshole,” she mumbled into his chest, not bothering to even raise her head as she splayed her palm out against his abs and sighed. 

“Okay, okay,” he relented, drawing a breath in an attempt to steady the nerves that had suddenly and inexplicably clamped around his heart like a vice. Discussing the past was never among Grant’s favourite pass times and yet he knew that he owed Skye as much, especially considering his vow to her only the previous evening. Despite as much, his blood rushed in his ears and his hands began to tremble as he moved them from Skye’s back to her waist. 

x-x-x

Massachusetts, 1998

Running his tongue over the split in his upper lip, Grant attempted to smooth down his ruffled hair even as he stumbled towards the visiting room. His heart rate picked up as he neared the double doors, behind which he realised his parents would be waiting, along with the families of every other delinquent in the juvenile detention centre who could be bothered to drag their asses out of bed early on a Saturday morning to sit with their no good kid for a few hours. 

Grant swallowed hard, fighting past the sudden lump that had risen in his throat. As soon as he pushed through the doors, he would be greeted by his father’s cool, steely gaze and his mother’s all too poised smile, both of which managed to mask the multitude of their sins. Resisting the urge to shudder, Grant scowled at the guard that planted a meaty hand in the small of his back, hurrying his approach to the room when he deliberately slowed his pace. 

Glancing around the room, he saw no sign of his parents, and so he took a seat at the nearest table with trembling legs. Visiting time had only just begun, yet most kids were already chatting happily with their families, some pretending to suffer through exuberant hugs from sobbing mothers, whilst others endured a poignant hair ruffle or shoulder pat from their father. The idea of either was foreign to Grant; he had never had his mother's affection, even as a small child, and his father had made it his business to impart a regime of suffering on the youngster that seemed to hint at grievances formed whilst Grant Ward had still been in the womb. But the lack of his parents' company gave him hope that perhaps his sister would choose to visit instead, tagging along with their father because she wanted to see him, rather than for pretence. She and Thomas were the only people he had ever felt any semblance of a bond with, and they had taken solace in each other, forced to live inside a world of abuse, dressed up with middle class values and all the trappings of the American Dream. The truth had been more of a nightmare for the Ward children, and Grant especially had been at the brunt of his father and older brother's wrath, and his mother's indifference. 

The minutes passed and Grant found himself growing more and more nervous. He eyed the other teenagers with varying degrees of envy that he tried desperately to turn into disgust. But the part of him that deeply longed to be loved would not be silenced, and he averted his gaze to the table surface. The doors of the room swung open, and he suddenly found himself staring into the face of a man he recognised all too well. Henry S. Fischer III strode through the doors with the air and arrogance of a man who was used to commanding every room he entered - or at the very least charging an extortionate amount of money for his company. As well as being one of his father's favourite golfing buddies, Henry was also the Ward family's lawyer, and his appearance made Grant's stomach dip in dread. 

"Grant," he greeted, nodding at the teenager whilst he unbuttoned his finely tailored suit jacket, before sitting down on the bench opposite. Realisation suddenly coloured Grant’s features and his jaw clenched as he felt his hands curl into fists. Anger had become his 'go to' emotion, and it was certainly more socially acceptable in his current place of residence than the tears he felt welling in his eyes. 

"They're not coming, are they?" 

Henry sucked air in through his teeth and tactfully avoided the boy's gaze, "No kid, they're not. They asked me to come here to tell you that... Well, your parents feel that it's for the best that you don't see them from now on."

Grant shook his head and a bitter laugh escaped him before he had even begun to identify the plethora of emotions warring for dominance within him. 

“Best for who? For me? For them? For Dad’s upcoming election campaign?” Grant spat, resting both hands on his knees and digging his fingernails hard into his own legs to ground himself. 

Henry’s very visible discomfort only seemed to grow as he reached out awkwardly and patted Grant on the shoulder several times in far too rapid succession. Grant narrowed his eyes and glared dangerously at the man, who withdrew his hand, bringing it back to rest atop the file on the table in front of him. 

“They wanted me to go over a few things with you,” Henry stated, his tone all business once again as he flipped open the file and began arranging the papers inside it. “When the... incident... goes to court, your father...”

“I don’t care,” Grant snarled, his jaw clenched so hard that it was almost painful. “I don’t want to know because I don’t care. Just go away.”

Henry let out a sigh, pursing his lips as he stared Grant down across the table before finally flipping the file closed.

“Look, Grant,” he began, dropping his voice to a barely audible whisper and glancing quickly around the room to ensure nobody was eavesdropping, “I understand, kid, I really do. Hell, I’m on your old man’s payroll - he’s put three of my kids through college with the shit I’ve gotten him out of - and even I think he’s an asshole, and Christian... well, he’s just a regular chip off the old block. But they’re throwing you a bone here and you’re a damned fool if you don’t accept it.”

Leaning one hand on the table, Grant stood up and shoved the file onto the floor with a snarl that sent Henry scrambling to his feet. 

"Tell them they can go to Hell!" he shouted, ignoring the warning glances of the guards as he ran his hands through his hair and prayed that the tears he felt burning behind his eyes would at least wait until he was back in his cell before appearing. 

"Grant, you're making a big mistake!" Henry called out, watching as the boy strode toward the door, the anguish and dejection evident in his gait. He made it to the threshold before he felt the first treacherous tear splash hot on his cheek, and his voice broke as he slammed his fist against the glass window in the door. 

"Take me back to my cell! I want to get out of here!" 

That night, Grant Ward cried himself to sleep for the final time. By morning a deep resolve had been ignited in his gut, and he was determined that for the rest of his life he would rely on nobody but himself. Bruised and battered by his parents’ cruelty and abandonment, he made a vow to never again allow himself to care about another living creature. Love had brought nothing but pain and disappointment to him, and he had grown to accept that he was unworthy of anything else. 

Four days later, a stranger would appear in the visiting hall, promising a future far away from the life that haunted him. John Garrett vowed to change the young man's life. 

And he would.

He did.

x-x-x

“I guess we’re both pretty screwed up, huh?” Skye said quietly, her cheek pressing harder into Grant’s chest. He toyed with the ends of her hair, a small, sad smile briefly appearing on his lips.

“I guess so,” he assented. 

“It’s kind of understandable though, right?” Skye checked, her voice carrying undertones of fear as she contemplated the possibility that the emotional damage sustained by both her and Ward was perhaps not entirely justifiable. 

“I like to think so,” Ward answered, shifting on the couch slightly, clearly uncomfortable with the turn their conversation had taken. “It’s not like we got the best start in life, either one of us. I think that matters more than a lot of people believe it does.”

Skye remained silent, nodding against his chest, where she continued to lie sprawled, her index finger drawing circles on his abs. 

But the idea of not being able to escape their histories and of being set on a path by the traumas that had tainted their childhoods was unimaginable to Skye. She desperately needed to believe there was a way out - that there was a chance to have everything they had both been denied, and for Ward to become the person he always should have been.

Lifting her head from Grant’s chest, Skye held his gaze as she brushed clumsily at the tears she felt trickling down her cheeks. He sighed underneath her and swept the tears away with the pad of his thumb. 

“Skye, please... I don’t want your pity,” he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. He tried to avoid her eyes, not wishing to see the evidence of her pain, but Skye lifted his chin and forced him to look at her regardless. 

“I don’t pity you, Grant,” she promised, hoping he realised she was speaking the truth. Her tears came from a far deeper hurt. 

“I guess I just understand now... I understand you.”

He appeared reflective - a state Skye had come to realise was not a good thing where Grant Ward was concerned. Reflection usually tended to give way to self-loathing, which Andrew had repeatedly told him was counter-productive. 

“And what if you don’t like what you come to see?” he asked hoarsely. “I’ve done terrible things... Things that I... I can’t even begin to make up for.”

He paused as her fingertips came to land on his lips and she nodded in agreement, the hint of a smile on her face that she hoped would break the tension. 

“Yeah. You have,” she agreed, chuckling at the mask of confusion he wore, “but you’re not your past, Ward. And neither am I. If we let our parents, or Hydra, or Garrett dictate the rest of our lives, they win. The future’s ours, right?”

Ward couldn’t help but mirror her contagious smile, and the hope he saw etched on her features made his heart leap. 

“Ours?” he checked, leaning his head back as she rested above him, her lips so close to his own that he wasn’t sure how he was containing the urge to close the remaining distance and kiss her senseless. 

“That’s what I figured.” Skye pursed her lips and shrugged to emphasize her point, “You and me. So our pasts were crazy and all kinds of depressing, but we’ve got each other now. Our own super powered, dysfunctional, messed-up family.”

“We’re not getting a dog,” Ward said firmly, rubbing his hands up and down her back as he gazed up at her with an expression that could only be described as ‘love-struck’.

“You suck,” she accused with a roll of her eyes, before finally leaning closer and pressing their lips together. Her tongue roved his mouth for barely seconds and her fingers grasped at the fabric of his t-shirt before she forced herself to pull away. 

Ward chuckled and smoothed his palm across Skye’s hair. Her eyelids fluttered closed and she breathed out her contentment in a single, heavy breath.

“Maybe one day,” Grant promised, his voice oddly hopeful as he extended the proposition, allowing it to hang in the air between them, waiting for Skye’s reaction. Surprisingly, she remained pressed against him, murmuring her agreement.

“When things are less... insane,” Ward continued, spurred on by the fact that Skye had yet to recoil or voice an outraged protest. 

“That’d be nice,” Skye agreed, toying with one of the several buttons on Grant’s t-shirt as she continued, “I guess, I wouldn’t totally hate a set up like the one we have here.”

At Ward’s sharp and surprised look, Skye almost stumbled over her words, feeling immediately foolish and fearing his rebuttal.

“I mean, it’s kind of hokey, and it’s not like I expect you to settle down and play house with me or anything,” Skye babbled in a rush, her cheeks growing hot as she added, “it’s just something I might want to do one day. A place of my own that’s not on four wheels, you know. There wouldn’t be any expectations or anything. It’d be totally expectation free... If you were even there at all.”

When she finally swallowed down her embarrassment and met his gaze, she found herself fighting the urge to cringe. Yet her mortification rapidly turned to confusion as she saw Grant grinning at her, his eyes gleaming in the daylight.

Cupping her cheek in his palm, he allowed another few moments to slip by as he merely stared at her in equal parts awe and elation. 

“There’s nothing I want more... and...” his smile curved at his lips as he added, “I have expectations, Skye.”

She smiled back at him, her stomach swirling with both excitement and trepidation. 

“You do? Am I gonna like them?” 

Ward pretended to deliberate on the matter for a moment, twisting his lips into a frown before he leant his head back against the arm of the couch, as if recounting the details of a daydream. Skye would never know of course that the hopes he was about to share with her were things he had set his heart upon long ago, back when he had thought it all impossible. 

“Well... I’m thinking a dog or maybe a cat to start off.”

Skye shrugged, murmuring, “I like cats...”

“Maybe a little house somewhere off the beaten track, with a front porch. We can get one of those swings...”

“A white picket fence?” Skye teased, poking him in the ribs playfully, “you’re really going for the whole cliche, huh?”

“Why not?! Hey, if we’re gonna do this, we might as well go the whole nine yards,” he said unapologetically. He arched an eyebrow at his girlfriend as he added, “Can I continue now?”

“Please do,” Skye returned, hiding her grin as best she could behind her hand as she pretended to clear her throat. Ward affixed her with a long, steady look that conveyed he was by no means fooled, but he tenderly caressed her cheek with the back of his hand nonetheless.

“Well, I thought maybe we could get a fixer upper, work on it together,” Ward explained, his hands roaming her back as he held her close. “Something we can put our own mark on. Something that’s just ours.”

“You’ve never seen me with power tools, right?” Skye demanded, seeming vaguely worried by the prospect. 

“You’re a quick study, you’ll learn,” Ward replied cheerfully, his voice dropping as he added, “and I’m sure your husband will help out.”

Skye threw back her head and laughed, her jaw practically aching as her smile grew only wider. 

“Oh but I don’t have one of those,” Skye teased, reaching up and tapping Ward playfully on the tip of his nose.

“Maybe, one day... I mean, if you wanted... someone might ask... But only if you wanted,” Grant said in a rush, ducking his head to avoid meeting Skye’s gaze as he finished ineloquently. 

“Wow, we really suck at this whole ‘envisioning the future’ thing,” Skye laughed, suddenly sobering as she peered up at Grant through her fan of dark lashes and demanded, “Ward, tell me a story. Not about the past... Tell me about the future this time. Our future.”

Grant smiled as she manoeuvred carefully against him, her arm draping over his chest and her head tucked snugly under his neck. Part of him didn’t dare hope for anything better than that moment, but slowly, he began to tell her of the future he imagined; forged from a shared life of adventure and character redeeming deeds that would one day allow him to deserve her. In great detail, he described their home, a place to belong, and eventually, the family of their own he still held out a degree of hope for. 

Skye listened intently, hanging on every word and trying desperately not to pin all of her hopes and dreams on his own. 

But by the time Grant had finished speaking, Skye was certain she had never wanted anything more in her life. 

 

x-x-x

Glancing at her watch for perhaps the fifth time in as many minutes, the woman tapped her foot against the marble floor and cast an impatient glance at the crowds that filled the bustling shopping mall. 

She toyed with the spoon in her cup of coffee and watched the liquid swirl against the edges, too distracted by her impending meeting to care that spots of the beverage were splashing upon the table top. 

However, by the time the man slid into the chair adjacent to hers, his cold eyes affixed upon her face, she had been acutely aware of his presence for a while. Glancing up from her cup, she arched a dark eyebrow at the man- her only form of greeting. In response, he bobbed his head once, then clasped his hands atop the table, no doubt to show that he was not reaching for the weapon concealed in his breast pocket.

Quietly, he inquired, “Have you considered our proposal?”

With a faint smile, she allowed the spoon to clatter against the table and gripped her cup with both hands in her own display of passiveness. 

“Yeah, I’ve thought it over,” she replied, cocking her head as she surveyed the man before her. “I’m in.”

His grin was instantaneous and undoubtedly predatory, spreading across his features and bringing an eerie kind of light to them in record time. 

“Oтлично,” he crooned, genuine excitement radiating from him as beamed at his companion. 

“But I have one condition,” she interrupted, catching the eye of a passing waitress, who bustled about the nearby tables.

“I am listening...” the man grumbled, resting his chin on the apex of his joined fingers. 

“You can do what you want with her. In fact, I actively encourage torture and maiming.. But he’s mine.”

The man appeared to deliberate over the proposal for only a moment before he smiled and declared, “I am sure we can come to an agreement that is mutually beneficial.”

As if her whole demeanour had suddenly changed, the woman sat up straighter in her seat and smiled buoyantly. “Great!” 

Holding up her hand to beckon the waitress over, she cast a glance at the menu on the table beside her. The waitress raised her eyebrows and removed her pencil from the coils of her notepad as she patiently awaited instruction. 

Trailing her fingertip over the menu as if caressing the very words written on the page, the woman consented to a sentimental smile. Finding herself filled with purpose and renewed hope, she exhaled a gentle hum, unable to contain a lopsided grin. 

“I’ll have the pancakes. Pumpkin.”


End file.
